Ctrl Z
by Mello's Favorite Reject
Summary: Matt was always quiet and conservative. But that ideal is subject to change once Mello reads Matt's uncensored thoughts on the laptop he left behind.
1. Introduction

**Title:** Ctrl Z

**Summary:** Matt was always quiet and conservative. But that ideal is subject to change once Mello reads Matt's uncensored thoughts on the laptop he left behind.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced.

**Author's Note:** Something came to mind; had to write it. Chapters will be short. Enjoy.

…

* * *

Mello bit angrily into the chocolate bar he held as he paced the length of the room, worrying a path into the faded wood beneath his feet. Every now and then, his narrowed sapphire eyes would widen a fraction and steal a heated glance towards the frail figure in the corner who hunched over the laptop. Any other lackey in the room was ignored, imaginary, useless in the eyes of the blonde. He had eyes only for one particular hacker and, as he pulled a sleek gun from the concealed pocket in his sports jacket and fingered the trigger a little too hard, he was reminded that the hacker whose attention he seeked was not this one.

No, the person he seeked was a redhead commonly found in a striped shirt and a sheepskin vest with a faux-fur lining. Unfortunately, his hired hands weren't good enough to break the security to the one thing the redhead had left behind... A laptop.

The blonde had hired a number of code monkeys to crack into his childhood friend's systerm, but none had been successful so far and his patience was wearing thin.

"We need to find out why he left and where he went," Mello said for the umpteenth time, threading gloved fingers through his hair and tugging in exasperation. "We _need_ Matt. -_I_ need Matt." Finally halting his erradic movements, he kicked the corpse away from the laptop and took a deep breath. He leaned closer to the screen and moved his fingers to hover over the keyboard.

As a last resort, he typed the last thing he could possibly think of.

_'MihaelKeehl121390'_

Finally, he was greeted with a confirmation and a loading screen. However, instead of loading the expect Windows, a low res video popped up and began to load; it played seemingly without delay.

-On the video, the famed redhead's eyes were unveiled for the first time to Mello. They were bright green, like shining emeralds; they appeared wide and fearful. And when that redhead opened his mouth, the panic was evident in his usually stoic voice: "Mello, listen to me... I'm going away for a while. When the time comes, you'll know when and where to find me. If you're watching this, that means you've killed all your little minions and decided to try to hack my shit all by yourself. Congratulations. Now... when this video is complete, I need you to access my journal. Read it all, and by the end, you'll understand what's going on."

The video cut off and Mello easily located the necessary documents; he pulled up the first journal and began to read.

...

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**/First chapter's lame. All chapters will be short, but they should be entertaining enough. Review./**


	2. Journal Entry One

**Title:** Ctrl Z

**Summary:** Matt was always quiet and conservative. But that ideal is subject to change once Mello reads Matt's uncensored thoughts are on the laptop he left behind.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced.

**Author's Note:** Matt's First Journal Entry here.

…

* * *

The internal snarls of regret start at your heart and resonate through your head, rumbling like the low warning growl of a predator, seeking to turn you inside out and prod mercilessly at your nerve endings –do you feel it? Does it hurt? Does it make your muscles spasm and your blood run cold? Do you feel as if you're dying and then, upon realizing that you're very much alive, do you wish to have already expired?

That is a sort of pain that can only be masked for so long.

One might ask what has made me come to view the world through the eyes of a self-imposed cynic. One might ask what has removed my heart and thrust it ventricle-first into the grinder. One might even ask if I can be healed.

More importantly, I'd like to ask something: Who the fuck are you, and why do you fuckin' care?

My business is no one else's business. I keep to myself for a reason. And that reason is: emotion/passion is dangerous. It causes more harm than good. So, I sit in my little corner, day in and day out, and I keep my two cents to myself, but really... who would be interested in my thoughts anyway? No one but me; so I spare the world of the woes of Matt.

Thank Nintendo, God of electronics. Fuck Sony,and don't even get me started on XBox. -Sorry, that's a rant for another day. But really, without a game to play, I'd have nothing to do. Ever. Nothing to look forward to. Nope, nada.

I don't do anything pertainting to activity. I hate exercise. TV is overrated. And... there's nothing quite like Mario -from that first stomp on a Goomba to that slide down the flagpole. Yeah, now that's some quality shit right there. Love it. Keeps me busy when everyone else is busy living.

And... to be fair, Mario and I have a lot in common. We both like the color red. And we both go out of our ways to save the princess -though, my princess is a royal bitch.

...

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**/Told you it would be short. Review./**


	3. Journal Entry Two

**Title:** Ctrl Z

**Summary:** Matt was always quiet and conservative. But that ideal is subject to change once Mello reads Matt's uncensored thoughts are on the laptop he left behind.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced.

**Author's Note:** Matt's Second Journal Entry here.

…

* * *

Perhaps I should explain my bitterness. I'll start at the beginning –no! How boring and expected! Let's start with last Tuesday! _Why_? Because it's fuckin' Tuesday, that's why. Nobody gives a shit about Tuesday, and that alone is symbolic. –Is it symbolic? Figurative? Metaphoric? Metabolism? Mitochondria? Endometriosis? –Eh, I dunno. Pretend I used the right word. My thesaurus is out of reach. Then again, I'm on my laptop typing this, sooo… -fuck, never mind. I'm too lazy to slide my finger to the Backspace key anyways, let alone highlight and bring up a dictionary or thesaurus.

Now, again. Tuesday… -It was a day like any other. The sun was shining and nuns were getting run over by my Camaro –(Okay, so that's only partially true. It happened on my game! And instead of a nun, it was a hooker; and instead of a Camaro, it was an ice cream truck…) –The point is, it was a regular, boring ol' Tuesday.

Mello walked in 5 o'clock sharp, as per usual. (_Hello, Princess_!) He did his usual ranting and raving, and I just nodded wordlessly, playing the part of a loyal sidekick, silent but ever present. Of course, I rarely ever paid attention to his useless bombasts unless he said my name, and even then I mindlessly agreed with whatever he was saying. (Honestly, I think that's how I ended up following him into the Mafia in the first place.)

When he was done bitching about an arms dealer failing to hold up his end of a deal and going AWOL, I turned off my game and fetched his chocolate before heading into the back room where I kept my laptop (which is this very lappy-toppy, yo! Its name is Frank, by the way. -_Mello, you asshat, if you ever read this, you'd better say hi to Frank. Seriously. Humor me or I'll cut your dick off in your sleep. –Okay, so I'd never do that, but I'll melt your chocolate, and that'll probably piss you off. –What can I say? I'm quiet on the outside but a hardcore muthafucker on the inside._)

Anyways, I did my usual shit, and then I opened a private chat with some guy I met a while ago. He claimed to know Mello and even knew his real name to be Mihael, so of course I had to figure out more about this guy whose signature was naught but the letter B.

We chatted for what seemed like hours and he shared a rather frightening video with me. The video was that of an L lookalike bludgeoning a child to death. It was extremely graphic, and even a CG-fanatic like myself can't figure out how it was made to look so realistic.

Again, this was last Tuesday. Almost a week ago. Since then, his personality has begun to surface in our chats. I can easily imagine him being the type of person to associate with Mello the Mafia ringleader, but… something's off about the whole situation.

It's too convenient that I would come into contact with the mysterious person called B, who so openly claimed his status as a murderer. –But, for a psycho, he was easy to relate too, which is pretty fucked up when ya think about it. I ended up talking to him a lot more than I originally intended, and when he specifically requested the chance to meet me in person at 11:52 PM that same Tuesday evening at the intersection just past Ayers Road, I agreed.

Our meeting was nothing drastic, but at the same time it kinda was. When the time arrived, I got out of the car and met him in beneath the flickering light of an old arc lamp. He introduced himself as B and I offered myself as Matt. His body shook with a short burst of manic laughter before instantly calming; he seemed to stare above my head rather than at me directly, though I didn't comment.

We were quiet after the introduction, and I wasn't quite sure what to say to a murderer. ('_What's your favorite scary movie?_' –Again, I detest tv, and the cinema is no different. So, like fuck I was gonna use a cliché and worn out line from a novelty horror flick whose masked villain was so lamely named 'Ghost Face'.)

Thankfully, B filled the silence, simply saying: "Zero. Four. Twenty. Seven. Three. Eight. And fifty."

Of course, I just looked at him like he was a window-lickin' retard. After all, I had a high IQ and could find no correlating pattern amongst the numbers.

Then, he elaborated. "Zero years. Four months. Twenty days. Three hours. Eight minutes. And fifty seconds. –That's how long you have to live, Mail."

…yeah, my Tuesday was fucked up.

…

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**/Review./**


	4. Inactive Stimulus

**Title:** Ctrl Z

**Summary:** Matt was always quiet and conservative. But that ideal is subject to change once Mello reads Matt's uncensored thoughts are on the laptop he left behind.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced.

**Author's Note:** Mello's response to Matt's Journal Entries thus far. Short and semi-pointless.

…

* * *

Mello twitched irritably at Matt's words as his eyes met and abandoned them in favor of continuing his literary prowess. Never had he pegged Matt to be so expressive, let alone foul-mouthed. Even when they were orphaned roommates, the gamer was always so polite and quick to adopt a smile; he was always a quiet little redhead with nothing to do but play his games and follow the blonde virtually everywhere.

Oddly, Mello didn't have much to day about being called a royal bitch, because honestly, he knew he could have been called so much worse than that –though, he furrowed his brows, pursed his lips and wrinkled his nose at being called a princess.

Though, as strange and discomforting as it all was, nothing compared to the fact that the redhead had contact with B, famed murderer from the LABB murder cases. The mere fact was phenomenal, but more so, it was alarming.

Why would B personally contact Matt? Or had it been the other way around? –Mello couldn't decide which option was more worrisome.

His hands clenched into fists as he contemplated the best method of retrieving the redhead. Unfortunately, technology would be his best means of finding Matt whether he ran off or was abducted, but that would prove difficult since the blonde, at best, was naught but a Script Kiddie. This ordeal was not in his field of expertise.

Still, he stole himself from the Journals and decided to look for any other clues that might have been left; he clicked on a suspicious looking icon, only for an image of Matt to appear as text scrawled across the screen, displaying a 1337 message: _B4D M3LL0. F1NI5H TEH J0|_|RN4L5 R19H7 N0WXORZ._ (Bad Mello. Finish the Journals Right Now.)

Seconds later, the image shredded itself and the document opened once more, insistently reminding the blonde where he'd left off.

…

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**/Poor Mello; he's getting very little attention. Oh wellz. Matt's thoughts are important at the moment. Review./**


	5. Journal Entry Three

**Title:** Ctrl Z

**Summary:** Matt was always quiet and conservative. But that ideal is subject to change once Mello reads Matt's uncensored thoughts are on the laptop he left behind.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced.

**Author's Note:** Matt's Third Journal Entry. (My favorite, so far. Not sure why.)

…

* * *

It's been a while since the incident with B, and though he and I haven't had contact since, it was still pretty damn creepy how he claimed to know when I'd die. I thought nothing of it. Aside from the smoking and high blood pressure, I was pretty healthy.

Speaking of my smoking –I was fidgety today because I misplaced my cigs and desperately needed the nicotine. Then Mello had to be an ass and yell at me for being unable to sit still. And though I didn't verbally retaliate, I did anxiously continue my search, only to end up with my stomach to the floor as my hand felt around blindly beneath the sofa; I pulled my hand back and sat up to find an empty pack gracing my palm.

In that instant, I dumbly wondered if the lack of nicotine might warrant the death B assured was in my wake, but I quickly thought better of it, deciding that becoming a non-smoker would be more beneficial than not-which is not to say that I planned to stop smoking.

Fuck, none of this shit's what really matters.

Now, what I mean to say is, (_Princess_) Mello had himself a shit fit over my slight show of agitation, so I got back at him later by taking each of his chocolate bars and, one by one, I slipped 'em in my pants and rubbed 'em against my junk.

Yeah, take that Blondezilla. Eat that chocolate. EAT IT! It touched my nads, yo. Fuckin' hilarious. I'm gonna be off to get another pack of smokes, and he's going to snack on tainted chocolate.-I am so glad I'm not the only one with an oral fixation.

Oh, speaking of oral fixation, Mello has one. He's a sick and twisted individual. He got himself a nasty cavity from all that chocolate and poor oral hygiene, and when his tooth ached, he spent three whole days on the couch, moaning and groaning and grunting like a slut, occasionally shoving his fingers into his mouth to massage his bloody gums and apply pressure where needed –and it's not like Rod, Kal, myself, and every other dumbass lackey here didn't notice the poorly restrained boner while did it.

Fuck, in a way, it was kinda hot. Made me wanna go to my lappy-toppy and run my finger across the nice long spacebar. –Okay, so that was a bit too vulgar, even for my taste, but oh wellz.

Now, to get off the subject of my slight technosexuality, let's go back to the issue of oral fixation.

Do I _really_ have one?

Well, let me ask you a question now: Is that your fuckin' business?

Yes! I have a goddam oral fixation. Yeah. Fuck you, Mr. (_Mrs?)_ Inquisitive. Maybe I was drunk on the boob a bit too long before the ma'tender cut me off. Or maybe it's because I was the 5 year old in Kindergarten, still suckin' a pacifier and gettin' bullied over it. At least I'm not some candy assed bimbo who can't tell a toothache from an orgasm.

Yeah, fuck you Mello. So hard. Like –uh, no. Hott as your ass is, I'd rather stroke my Shift key than get physical with you. I mean, dude, Mello, I know you look good with all that leather, but have you seen the cellulite on your thighs? Fuckin' sick. –Isn't there a surgery for that?

Ugh, now I've lost my appetite. I could use a smoke though.

…

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**/Mostly Random. Yes. But I hope someone found joy in this. Next chapter should have slight plot development. Review./**


	6. Journal Entry Four

**Title:** Ctrl Z

**Summary:** Matt was always quiet and conservative. But that ideal is subject to change once Mello reads Matt's uncensored thoughts are on the laptop he left behind.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced.

**Author's Note:** Fourth Journal Entry.

…

* * *

Sweet nicotine. Yeah, I got my smokes, but at what cost? Too fuckin' much, that's for sure. Damn economy's goin' to shit; prices are rising –Fuckin' inflation. Seriously, I remember when a pack of smokes costs $2.09. Now, I'm paying up to five fuckin' dollars for 20 damn cigarettes, and I usually smoke (at least!) twice that in a day. No wonder people are fuckin' broke, living under bridges and sleeping on benches and shit. Can't even get a week's worth of cigs without blowing half your paycheck. –Well, not _my_ paycheck, per se –I've got plenty of money –but I mean, most of today's society isn't as fortunate as I am to be coddled by a leather-bound princess with illegal activities out the wa-freakin'-zoo. (Anyone know what a 'wazoo' is anyways? That's a fucked up word.)

Anyways, yes, I got my smokes, so I should be happy, but I'm not. All day, I've had that creepy feeling –y'know the kind of eerie notion ya get when someone's watching you? Well, that's how I felt. All… Day. And, as if that wasn't bad enough, I've been paranoid. Stupid paranoia. For realz. I've been hearing things, literally jumping at the sight of my shadow, and looking for clues to a mystery that didn't exist.

I dunno. Surely it's all in my imagination, but something tells me that bad shit's about to go down.

Then again, something bad _did_ happen –right after I walked out of the shitty little convenience store. I caught a glimpse of blood red eyes and equally red fingers beckoning me forth. And though I thought better of it, I obliged, pocketing my life-saving tobacco tubes and promenading after the creep.

…It was B; there was no doubt about it, with his shaggy hair and L-esque appearance; he seemed to hum a bit louder with every step, though I was unfamiliar with the tune.

After half a block of mindless walking and following, he stopped, turned to face me, grinned manically, and said: "Zero. Three. Twenty-nine. Nine. Five. Two. And Eleven."

This time, after hearing the array of numbers, I needlessly provided the explanation instead of waiting for him to do so. "Zero years. Three Months. Twenty-nine days. Nine hours. Five minutes. And Eleven seconds."

His smile stretched even wider, and I was surprised his teeth didn't tear through his cheeks as he corrected me, saying: "No… Nine seconds. –Eight. –Seven. –Six…-"

"I get it; the clock is winding down, but how do you know? What makes you think that I'm going to die then?"

He didn't answer right away. He seemed to think it over before giving a response. "Zero. Three. Twenty-nine. Nine. Five. One. And two." Again, he stared above my head, but I didn't declare my concerns, not really wanting to draw more attention to myself than I already had. -Still, he added: "It'll be fast. It won't hurt. No, you hurt now a lot more than you'll hurt later."

Of course, I asked what he meant, and what he said frightened me more than my supposedly short life span.

His words –I'll never forget them. –"Mail, your pain… comes from here," he gestured to his chest where his heart (if he had one) would be. "And you're going to die alone. In the end, we all die that way –unless we're murdered, in which case we die near our assailant." He paused, allowing the words to sink in. (At the time, though, I hadn't really thought them over, still believing his barbs to be a clever hoax.) "Mail, I'm giving you a choice. When you die –in zero years, three months, twenty-nine days, zero minutes, and four seconds –do you want to be alone? If not, I can spare you that bit of loneliness."

Of course, I wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up; then I wanted to leave… And that's just what I did, minus the verbal assault that I begrudgingly held in.

I made my way all the way back to my car, relieved at not being followed. Once inside my precious Camaro, I lit up a smoke and wondered: 'Granted, I don't believe in B's hokum –when the time comes, do I want to die alone?'

And now, I feel the need to ask why… Why would a young healthy person like myself consider this shit?

Unfortunately, the answer's all too simple.

People die everyday. Young people. Healthy people. Happy people.

So… what happens when I become just another statistic?

Then again, I'm associated with the Mafia, so my body will probably be disposed before I'm even chanced an obituary.

…Well, that's me, in a nutshell. Not even worthy of being a lowly statistic in death. What bullshit.

Nah, when I die, it's gonna be an EVENT! There's gonna be music and coctails and fancy clothes and shit. People will celebrate. Strangers and friends alike. It's gonna be da bomb diggity, yo.

-In all seriousness, if and when I do pass on, I have one request. And that is… for someone to tell Mello (my bitchy ass princess)… that I hope he gets that surgery. I know he hides it well from everyone, but I'm not stupid. I know he needs that operation.

But he might not be the same after it. After all, I know if I had a big stick removed from my ass, I'd be a lot less bitchy.

Yes, Mello. Go get that stick removed. Stop being such a cunt to everyone. Your tough-guy persona doesn't match your Walmart Fish/Madonna ensemble.

-Dammit, I keep getting sidetracked! Back to the depressing matters of my death. I do have a real request or two.

One: there's a box under my bed, and inside that box is a letter. I want it read aloud –at my funeral, by Mihael (yes, that's the real name of my princess.). He may be an ass, but… he's my friend. Even though I internally bash him all the time, he's alright. He's there for me when I need him. He's reliable and earnest. –Again, read said letter at my funeral.

Two: for fuck's sake, I want a funeral! Don't roll me in a ditch somewhere.

…

And three: don't let me die alone.

–I guess B's words affected me more than I thought. Dammit. I've worked so hard on keeping composed, but... how long can I really keep up the facade? I'm getting tired of pretending to be this quiet little dork who lacks an opinion. I'm a human being. Orphaned at seven and alone for what felt like forever. I was lucky to latch onto Mello -Mihael -I latched onto him like a parasite. And now I'm too afraid to let go.

…

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**/Next chapter, we'll see Mello. Then we'll see what's going on with the current Matt outside of his Journals. Then a few more Journals. Then the ending. –For now… Review. /**


	7. Colloquy via Script

**Title:** Ctrl Z

**Summary:** Matt was always quiet and conservative. But that ideal is subject to change once Mello reads Matt's uncensored thoughts are on the laptop he left behind.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced. (I down own the used lyrics of the song My World by Sick Puppies.)

**Author's Note: **Not much happens in this chappie, but it's insightful.

…

* * *

Mello was fighting off the sensation of vertigo, blinking harder than necessary just to keep focused on the words that were appearing to mesh together. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with the heels of his hands to soothe their dryness. He dropped his hands and stared blearily at the confessions that destroyed the pre-set image of his childhood friend.

As Mello continued to read, he became more conflicted towards the Matt he thought he knew. But the Matt he'd come to know and respect was a lie, and in that liar's place was a devious soul with a foul mouth, stubborn opinions, and the fear of dying alone.

What was more troublesome was the fact that B seemed to have a way of stalking, contacting, and knowing where to find the two-faced redhead when needed. It was puzzling, and the blonde was debating on whether he should continue the Journals or get up and take action.

It took all of two seconds for him to make up his mind.

Abandon the Journals and take action! Yes, he was a man of action, and it was driving him to hysterics to sit behind a screen when he could be doing more productive things at the moment.

But first, he closed out of the document and located the box beneath the bed that supposedly held a letter –the very letter that he (Mihael Keehl) should read at the funeral of his friend if anything happened to cause an unwarranted expiration.

Stealing it from the quaint little box, he unfolded the worn and faded piece of paper before reading silently, lip synching the words as he did, brows furrowing and pupils dilating.

_I'm not comin' back.  
__I'm not gonna react.  
__I'm not doin' shit for you.  
__I'm not sittin' around while you are tearin' it down around us.  
__I'm not livin' a lie while you swim in denial-  
__'Cause you're already dead and gone.  
__You leave me out on the curb just like everyone else before you._

_Welcome to my world.  
__Where everyone I ever need always ends up leaving me alone.  
__Another lesson burned,  
__And I'm drowning in the ashes.  
__Kicking.  
__Screaming.  
__Welcome to my world._

_I don't care what you think; I'm not seeing a shrink.  
__I'm not doing this again.  
__I'm not another student or a mother to take your shit out on.  
__So let's see what you got; let's see what you're not-  
__And whatever else you pretend,  
__You've defended my intentions long enough._

_Welcome to my world.  
__Where everyone I ever need always ends up leaving me alone.  
__Another lesson burned,  
__And I'm drowning in the ashes.  
__Kicking.  
__Screaming.  
__Welcome to my world._

_So here I am again-  
__In the middle of the end;  
__And the choice I wish I made,  
__I always make too late._

_Welcome to my world.  
__Where everyone I ever need always ends up leaving me alone.  
__Another lesson burned,  
__And I'm drowning in the ashes.  
__Kicking.  
__Screaming.  
__Welcome to my world._

Confusion and guilt –two relatively foreign emotions –weaved themselves inside the blonde, tightening his chest and throbbing inside his head. He felt the muscles in his hands spasm, desiring to crumple the paper, but he willed his composure, not quite ready to let go of what could quite possibly be Matt's last message. His hands shook with the effort to control himself as he carefully folded the paper up, catching the glimpse of an inked note on the surface of one of the folds –how'd he miss that before? (Had the lyrical script been a decoy? What would be the point in that?) Gritting his teeth, he read it too.

_Mello, if you're reading this, I'm sorry… for what I did to you.  
__You were twelve, and I was eleven. You were crying on the anniversary of your mother's death –you asked me about my parents… And, for the first time, I lied to you. If there's one thing I regret, it's that lie.  
__Because… my parents didn't die. They just gave me away. I loathed myself, thinking that nobody would ever want me around. But… you did.  
__And I can't thank you enough for that.  
__I spent years contemplating suicide; I really did. I felt so alone, but… every time I thought I had the courage to do it, I remembered how hard you cried –I remembered how you needed me.  
__And so, I let myself live.  
__For you.  
__Because, as shitty and fucked up as life is (has been?), I believe in whatever you and I shared._

As he finished reading, Mello released a breath he didn't know he was holding. He felt too many emotions at once; he couldn't sort them out. Regardless, he gave into his previous desire to crumple the paper; his fingers slackened and the abused script soundlessly hit the floor.

…

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**/Yeah, Mello abandoned the letter, but that doesn't mean he's abandoned his Hacker too! -Next up, we'll see what's going on with Matt outside of the Journals. I bet all my readers are itching for that. For now… Review./**


	8. Spatial Acuity

**Title:** Ctrl Z

**Summary:** Matt was always quiet and conservative. But that ideal is subject to change once Mello reads Matt's uncensored thoughts are on the laptop he left behind.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced. The quotes mentioned are not mine.

**Author's Note:** Here we are. See what's up with Matt!

_**(Warning: This is a semi-serious chapter. Don't get all giddy for crass humor.)**_

…

* * *

Having grown up in a broken home and been tossed aside at a vulnerable age, a particular redhead felt utterly betrayed and alone. He'd spent his life mourning the joys he'd been denied –birthday cake, Christmas presents, and hugs and kisses. He'd missed out on so many pleasantries that it was difficult for him to focus on what (and _who_) he did have.

-He had a badass princess who wore leather, rode a motorcycle, and could crush the world in his palm if he wanted; his princess was a lethal dose of sex on legs; his princess was a total bitchface –but that somehow worked in the blonde's favor, though the redhead would always see his friend as little more than a host to his parasitic ways.

Yeah, to be blunt, Matt had Mello, but right now that was a moot point.

Unveiled emerald eyes slip closed as the desolate young man hugged his knees to his chest and hid his face against the denim. The distant clock on the wall ticked loudly among the stillness in the room, giving a constant reminder that his days were numbered.

A shudder beset his lanky frame as a voice reached his ears.

–"Zero. One. Nine. One. Twelve. And seven."

"A-Already?" the redhead's voice wavered with his inquisition. "Zero years. One month. Nine days. One hour. Twelve minutes. And seven seconds. –I'm not ready for this." His voice was barely a whisper as he pressed his face harder into the denim, letting out a muffled cry of frustration. Then, after slowly peeling his face away from his makeshift mask, he turned his gaze onto the prior speaker. "What can I do, B?"

"Make the most of what you've got," was the simple answer, stated in such a calm and casual tone that it made Matt sick. "-I don't murder for fun, you know. I murder… for the sake of my victims; I confront them to offer relief in ways you can't imagine. –When they are gone from this world, they become immortal, forever remembered and loved." When Matt showed no signs of understanding, he elaborated: "My gift is a blessing and a curse. I can see your name and lifespan, clear as day, but I know not who you are or how you will expire… But I can offer my service; I can promise to be there when you go. I can promise a piece of eternity."

Silence fell like a plague; the atmosphere thickened and condensed only when another sob spilled from the redheaded hacker.

B, for once, seemed hesitant to speak. He grabbed and opened a jar of jam and dipped his fingers inside. With his mouth and fingers tainted red –just like his demonic eyes –he spoke again to Matt. "Mail, perhaps it is time for you to make peace with your indictments."

"Hn?" a simple sound in place of an inquisition.

A vague and complex answer. "Go, do something to prove you're alive. –_To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all._"

"… You're quoting Oscar Wilde," the redhead murmured absently, straightening his legs and turning to lie on the tattered mattress that sat on the floor.

"Yes, indeed. He was a brilliant man –Was he brilliant? Or perhaps troubled? It's hard to say. But any form of genius stems from madness."

"B…"

"Mail Jeevas."

"I… should have been honest with Mello." Matt sat up and arched his back to relieve the tension that had built. "I should have never put forth a front and kept secrets."

"Then he might not have liked you," B reasoned. "Honesty only works for those who have no regard for their future."

"Clever. Is that a quote too?" Matt asked, regretting the fact that he inwardly agreed.

"… No. It is a harsh fact."

More silence, then...

"Mail… _You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist."_

"Now you're quoting Friedrich Nietzsche. –Sorry, but I'm not in the mood for this, B. I… need to go see Mello. He's not going to read the Journals; he's not a patient person. He's not going to understand what's going on. He's not gonna-" he let his words trail off, eyes widening as he witnessed B make his way to a nearby wall and place his palms against it. B's back was to Matt as he curled his fingers and dug his nails into the seam of the printed paper before peeling it away, revealing the boards beneath. Matt wanted to ask, but words just wouldn't form.

B continued to rip at the paper, eventually exposing faded brown markings on the wall –it appeared to be a child's finger-painting, but upon closer inspection, it was a giant, sloppily painted calendar, covered in X's. He took a jam-coated finger and placed it in one of the boxes, adding an X to his mural. His lips formed a tight line and he murmured: "This is the day, Mail; this is when your world ends. After this day, there will be nothing left of you."

Matt subconsciously clenched his hands into tight fists; he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, grinding out the words: "You –you could be wrong. Just because I'm sick, doesn't mean…-"

"Not sick, Mail. You're defective. The illness you were born with is not curable. Your death is assured."

Matt wiped his tear-stricken eyes with his sleeves before shaking his head. "No more games. I'm going home. If I die… I want to die there."

"Then you'll die alone," said B.

"Not if I'm murdered," the redhead jeered mockingly, grabbing his goggles from a nearby stand and slipping them on to cover his puffy red eyes.

"Mail, please, reconsider leaving. Wait for Mihael to come to you first."

"No, I'm done waiting. I'm done lying. I need to be completely honest with Mello… and myself." With those words, he slipped his shoes on and headed out the door, slamming it behind him and shielding himself from the murderer whom had changed his life and seemingly introduced him to his own death sentence.

As the redhead left, the red-eyed raven pressed his white sleeve to the jam-scrawled X on Mail's death date, rubbing furiously to remove the mark. "It changed so quickly," he said humbly. "The numbers… they dropped. –So many zeroes." He narrowed his eyes in concentration as he mentally recalculated the correct day. Then he dipped his finger into the nearly-empty jar and placed a fresh X in another square, whispering: "Zero. Zero. Zero. Seven. Zero. And two. –Zero years. Zero months. Zero days. Seven hours. Zero minutes. And two seconds."

…

* * *

**/*gasp* Better explanations in the Journals to come! And, as promised, after a few more journals, we'll have a final chapter, which will feature Mello, Matt, and B. –Review./**


	9. Journal Entry Five

**Title:** Ctrl Z

**Summary:** Matt was always quiet and conservative. But that ideal is subject to change once Mello reads Matt's uncensored thoughts are on the laptop he left behind.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced. The quotes mentioned are not mine.

**Author's Note:** Matt's fifth Journal Entry. A bit scatterbrained, really, but important. -Also, can you guess Matt's condition by the end of the chappie?

…

* * *

'Hey, Mello! Katy Perry called, and she wants her hair style back!'

Okay, so maybe it's a bit mean, but I swear, if Mello dyed his hair to some shitty neon color, he could easily be her twin… except more badass.

Now, as for why I brought up the barb, I… well, I needed comic relief, and my choices to poke at were Katy Perry, Justin Beiber, and –I am really close to ranting about teenybopper celebs when I should focus on what matters.

I've been having a bit of a problem –well, a few problems, and they're rather serious.

Temporary blindness, for one. My sight is blurred and it occasionally goes completely black for a few seconds at a time, and it's fuckin' scary to be sitting behind the wheel and then lose my vision. I almost had an accident recently.

I've had a significant decrease in my muscle mass; I've weakened seemingly over night. Even standing and walking is a challenge, but I'm hiding it well, I think.

There's a notable delay in my mental and social skillz. My comprehension and reaction time is slowed and I've become irritable –more so than usual.

And the other day, I tried to grab a cup of coffee but I couldn't make my hand latch onto the handle-thingy. I mean, I knew what I needed to do; I was focusing on the damn cup, but my hand just wouldn't cooperate. I tried several times over the course of a couple minutes, and… I cried afterwards. Bawled like a little bitchface because I had to admit… that something was terribly wrong.

And… just this morning, while playing one of my usual MMO's, I think I had a seizure.

…Right, so things haven't been going my way at all, which is why I broke down and went to see a doctor, had some blood work, a CT scan, an MRI, and a physical exam.

I'm currently waiting for my results. In the meantime, I'm going to confront B. I believe he knows more than he lets on, and I wanna know exactly why he started stalking me. –What makes me so important that he'd go out of his way to track me down?

Fuck, I need a smoke. And a drink –hell, I don't even drink, but I'd welcome a bit of rum and coke. Yeah, crack open a bottle of McMaster's and I'm good to go.

But no, I… Well I (honestly/secretly) have no self-control on substance intake. And if it were to impair my senses, then I might slip up and say or do things that I might regret.

-Well, you know what they say. 'Where alcohol fails, there's always porn.' Hellz yeah, Imma check out some hott foreign chicks nommin' all over some big dicks –but not bigger than mine. It's a guy thing. Dicks are always okay, as long as the person who looks has the bigger package. It's like an unwritten rule or some shit. Every guy loves their dick. It's a fact; a sick and twisted fact.

Speaking of dicks and facts, I'm curious… I've never gotten the chance to compare mine to Mello's, so next time I get the chance to drug him (_yes, it's happened before!_), I'll bring out the tape measure and check it out.

So, Princess Mello, beware! Next time your chocolate tastes just a little sweeter, you're going to take a nap and wake up violated.

…

* * *

**/T_T I have no words for this, so… Review./ **


	10. Journal Entry Six

**Title:** Ctrl Z

**Summary:** Matt was always quiet and conservative. But that ideal is subject to change once Mello reads Matt's uncensored thoughts are on the laptop he left behind.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced. The quotes mentioned are not mine.

**Author's Note:** Matt's Sixth Journal Entry. Another semi-somber chapter. Sorry if it's scatterbrained again!

…

* * *

It's been a while since I've written anything. Too long. So, I guess I should catch up on things.

I got my results back from the doctor's. I've officially been diagnosed with Tay-Sachs disease. Apparently, it usually effects an infant and they don't live to see the age of five, but in rare cases –cases like mine, of course –Tay-Sachs remains dormant and undetected until the infected person reaches their early twenties, and then it assaults their nervous system all at once, quickly and effectively shutting them down and causing a rather sudden death. It is incurable and untreatable.

The doctor suggested that I make myself as comfortable as possible at home and avoid strenuous activity. -Thats what they tell old people who are ready to fuckin' croak.

My days are numbered.

B was right.

So, I've been seeing him more often than not, using him as a personal countdown 'til my demise. He's brilliant, in some ways. He says he can see my name and lifespan… And strangely enough, I believe him. He's not completely crazy; there's validity in his thoughts and theories. He has this idea that everyone dies alone, even if they pass away while in a crowded room. In the end, your body is limp and lifeless, sightless and thoughtless, and your soul perishes from this world and rebirths in the next; it's supposed to be more unbearable than any pain. –But B has this impression… that when he murders someone and personally watches the light fade from their eyes, he has a chance to touch their soul for the smallest second, and for that instance, there is no loneliness.

B is offering me that 'piece of eternity,' as he calls it. And… I'm debating on whether or not to accept.

Still, he and I discussed it recently, and there is an alternative solution. It is known as soul-suffocation. It's a form of suicide –now, I know what you're thinking: 'MATT'S SUICIDAL!' But that's not the case. I'm being logical.

First off, forget what you know about religion and all that bullshit. There is a Heaven; there is a Hell; there is Limbo; and there is also Nihility. Heaven and Hell are like you imagine. Limbo is when your soul is trapped on earth. And Nihility is a dark and infinite chasm where the soul goes when someone commits suicide. Supposedly, the moment you reach Nihility, your soul is wiped of all the hardships of living, and it becomes pure. Once pure, it is given the chance to live again, starting over –a form of reincarnation, if you will.

Granted, death is frightening, and none of the choices are appealing, it is inevitable.

I, Mail Jeevas, am going to die.

But not today.

-Oh, and I did _it_, by the way. A while ago, I drugged Mello and took a tape measure to his dick. The results will not be documented here, but I will say that I was rather pissed off about it. So… yeah, whatever my princess is _doing_, he's doing _very well_.

And, he's still my princess, though, with my newfound disease, I've been trying to be a bit more open with him. But… I'm not sure he's noticed. –I don't want to die and leave my best friend without him even knowing that I felt things; I want him to know that I had thoughts and opinions –I fuckin' mattered, y'know?

But how can I tell him? Unless he reads these Journals for himself, but he'd need one hell of a good reason to even touch my lappy-toppy.

-Eh, I'll dwell on this shit later. For now, I'm supposed to meet up with B pretty soon. Last time I spoke to him, he specifically requested that I bring Hydrogen Sulfide and Sanporu. Not sure why. Oh wellz.

…Oh, holy mother of FUCK on an icecream cone! I almost forgot! Before I forget 'em, I'm writing/typing a handful of little quotes B and I overheard when we went out to do a new hobby of mine: People Watching. (I know it's creepy, but you can learn so much by observing strangers –and they sometimes say the funniest shit! Here's proof!)

_- A day without sunshine is like, well, night, man. Now, add a hooker, and it's a good night!  
__- Never forget that you are unique, just like everybody else!  
__- Tis better to be pissed off than pissed on.  
__- I'm tellin' ya: he who refuses to listen, is lying.  
__- It is better to be looked over than overlooked.  
__- The young know the rules; the old know the exceptions.  
__- Getting sick at the airport could be a terminal illness.  
__- If at first you don't succeed, parachuting is not for you.  
__- An 'Aeroplane Blonde' is one who has bleached his/her hair but still has a 'black box'.  
__- People who say they never fart are full of hot air.  
__- Two wrongs may not make a right; but two Wrights made an airplane -so fuck you, hoes!  
__- Never test the depth of the water with both feet, dumbass.  
__- Time flies like an arrow, but fruit flies like a banana.  
__- An argument between pharmacist and a patient is called a pill-owe-fight.  
__- What do you do with a year's worth of used condoms? Melt them, turn them into tire and call it a Goodyear.  
__- The hardness of butter is directly proportional to the softness of the bread.  
__- Everywhere is walking distance if you have the time.  
__- To write with a broken pencil is pointless. Use a crayon!  
__- I had AIDS, but I gave them to you!_

-Okay, so not _all_ of them are funny, but I'm pretty sure I was wasted at the time, so it seemed funnier. Whatever, man. I've gotta get going. I have to get going to pick up those chemicals for B, that crazy bastard.

…

* * *

**/Yeah, the quotes were relatively pointless, but some of them were funny, and I felt that it adds a certain quality to it. I dunno. Review please./**


	11. Journal Entry Seven

**Title:** Ctrl Z

**Summary:** Matt was always quiet and conservative. But that ideal is subject to change once Mello reads Matt's uncensored thoughts on the laptop he left behind.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced. The quotes mentioned are not mine.

**Author's Note:** Matt's seventh Journal Entry.

…

* * *

Me again. (Who else would be writing Journal Entries on my fuckin' lappy-toppy?!) Now, to document some recent shit… I, uh, know why B needed those chemicals –Hydrogen Sulfide and Sanporu. If mixed properly in a contained area, it releases a deadly gas that, with a single breath, will sever all the signals between your body and brain while simultaneously stopping your lungs and heart from working. In a sense, it's an instant death that occurs without your body giving that painful resistance; there is no last gasp of breath. Your organs die before your body itself registers fatality. The delay is what allows the process of soul-suffocation.

In my car, at this very moment, are those chemicals, unmixed but ready if and when needed.

My time is counting down. B never forgets to remind me, like a haunted metronome that keeps ticking even without prompt.

B's real name is Beyond Birthday, and he's a famed serial killer –he told me this morning while we sat in apartment number 13 and idly chanced a curious game of chess. There was madness in the red eyes that watched the fabricated numbers above my head rather than the paths taken by my pieces. Even as I slammed my Bishop into his Knight and declared Check on his King, he absently flicked his King over a space, effectively pulling away from reflexive danger he'd been put in… but I could easily tell that his focus remained on my lifespan.

-I won that game of Chess, by the way. Not that it matters. What good is a menial victory when you know how little life is left to be lived? There's the thought that I shouldn't waste the time I have, but I don't have a 'bucket list;' and the only person I have loose ends to tie with is Mello, but… what are the odds that such a feat will have a positive outcome?

-Anyways, let's get away from the depressing nonsense or Imma start moaning and groaning like a bitch and blame it on Sora for getting his ass handed to him by Dream Eaters.

Speaking of Sora and Dream Eaters, I recently got that new Kingdom Hearts game. Fuck yeahz. Turned it on, and the first cut scene pissed me the fuck off. Seriously! Like, Braig, that guy from Birth by Sleep –the guy with the scar and eye patch and shit he got from losing the battle with Terra –yeah, he's there, and he's talking to a mysterious figure that uncloaks himself and… after being referred to as Xehanort (yeeeah, we all hated that bastard –PROUD MODE, BITCHES!) throughout the conversation, Braig freaks out and Xehanort (or… that guy we _thought_ was Xehanort) refers to himself as Ansem. –And, I'm like… WTF!?

I swear, every time I think I've fully figured out the KH saga, it gets more fucked up. But… I guess that's part of the fun. Maybe it'll make sense by the end of the game?

Now, let's divert from game-talk and move onto something more trivial. –Body hair. Some people like it; some people don't. Personally, I'm a reeeeally clean cut guy. Like, dildo-up-Lady-Gaga's-ass kinda clean. I keep my body in pretty damn good condition. I swear, L could eat sugar cubes off my… -No. Nevermind.

-I'm not thinking clearly, but to be fair, I'm dying, so cut me some slack.

…Now, in other news, I'm officially a dad. Yep. I've got a child –and no, it's not from sexin' up a whore or donating sperm. I got a Tamagotchi pet! –Okay, so it's not a real, kid; it's a virtual ninja-dude, but… it's cool. Unfortunately, I've had it for a day, and it's died, like, four times.

Why am I doing this again?

-Right, this is a Journal, so… where are the hard-hitting and pressing facts and shit? I'll tell ya where… My pants. And, no, I'm not being a pervert or talking about my dick again. I'm simply saying that I have a burn on my upper thigh, and it's nasty as fuck. –Guess how I got it! Guess!

Give up?

Salt and Ice. Yep, sprinkle salt on the skin, press and hold an ice cube over it for as long as possible (I lasted over three minutes!) and when the burning sensation is too much to handle, remove it. Y'see, the ice freezes and numbs your skin while the salt dries it out. And… dude, it actually scars! (For those reading this, it works, but DO NOT TRY IT, DUMBASS!)

And… uh, I think I'm gonna end this Journal for now, but not before saying this: Mello, if you're reading this, by some miracle, I… -fuck, I'm not gonna be around much longer. In fact, I'll probably set up some hoax or another to get you to read my Journals, and in doing so, I'll disappear. If you choose to find me, you can say goodbye. If you don't give a damn, well, I understand.

My next Journal will be my last. Ever. And… somewhere in it will be a clue to finding where I'll be.

So, I guess all that's left to do is… wait for expiration.

…

* * *

**/Review./**


	12. Sick Puppies

**Title:** Ctrl Z

**Summary:** Matt was always quiet and conservative. But that ideal is subject to change once Mello reads Matt's uncensored thoughts on the laptop he left behind.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced.

**Author's Note:** Yeah, this fic's so close to being complete. I will probably edit this chapter later, but for now, just read on, ignore the mistakes, and enjoy.

…

* * *

***Matt's Eigth/Final Journal Entry***

_(odd one)  
__Odd one, you're never alone.  
__I'm here and I will reflect you;  
__Both of us, basically unattached-  
__To anything or anyone unless we're pretending.  
__You live your life in your head.  
__Some call it imagination;  
__I'd rather focus instead on anything except  
__What I'm feeling-  
__What I'm feeling.  
__Odd one..._

_(maybe)  
__Maybe it's time to change,  
__And leave it all behind.  
__I've never been one to walk alone;  
__I've always been scared to try.  
__So why does it feel so wrong-  
__To reach for something more?  
__To wanna live a better life?  
__What am I waiting for?  
__'Cause nothing stays the same.  
__Maybe it's time to change._

_(you're going down)  
__Let's take a trip down memory lane.  
__The words circulate in my brain.  
__You can treat this like another all the same.  
__But don't cry like a bitch when you feel the pain._

_(all the same)  
__Go ahead say it!  
__You're leaving;  
__You'll just come back running-  
__Holding your scarred heart in hand.  
__It's all the same.  
__And I'll take you for who you are now…  
__If you take me for everything.  
__Do it all over again.  
__It's all the same._

**...**

***Mello in the present***

The blonde glared ferociously at the computer screen. He was so close to just walking out that door. He'd had his gloves, boots, and favorite jacket –he'd been so fuckin' ready to before the end of the sixth Journal, and… as he rejected the note whose script withheld Matt's final wishes, something stopped him. He found himself drawn back to that damned laptop to sift through Matt's thoughts once more.

He was enraged that Matt had been so secretive about having Tay Sachs disease; but he was more angry with himself for not knowing something was wrong. If he thought objectively about everything, then there were many signs along the way… -For instance, the redhead's sudden avoidance of the more violent games; the stiffer posture; the pained expressions that only surfaced when he thought the blonde wasn't looking; the small tweaks and struggles that were slight but numerous –_something_ had been wrong. _Very_ wrong.

And now Matt, his childhood friend, was dying. And worse yet, if the disease didn't kill him, then Beyond Birthday would.

That last thought sent a shiver down his spine, but he ignored it, opting to take a deep breath and re-read the Journal entry that wasn't much of an entry at all. In fact, it appeared to be little more than a small collection of lyrics that he couldn't quite place.

There were no quirky and uncensored comments. No rambles or rants or quotes that rendered sanity questionable. There was just… words. Perhaps there was meaning? –No.

Mello knew that Matt was emotionally torn, but he also knew that the redheaded gamer wouldn't promise something and not do it, and he was quite sure that Journal Seven had declared that his next message would be his last, and that it would contain a clue.

So, after searching and failing to find additional documents, he Googled the sets of lyrics, finding them all to be by the same music artists, and… coincidentally, on the desk where Matt kept his laptop, lie a burnt CD with the band's album name crudely scripted.

Hoping to have found a clue, he slipped the disk into the drive and waited with baited breath as the content was registered and a program booted instantly, allowing the option of playing a video. Seemingly on its own accord, a gloved hand clicked for it to play.

A 1337 (leet) message scrawled quickly across the screen –so quick that Mello almost needed to pause the video just to translate it.

_M31_1_0, 7H4ИK5 F0Я D341_IИG W17H MY 5HI7 7HЯ01_19H 41_1_ 7H353 Ɏ34Я5. Ɏ01_1'R3 MY 6357 FЯI3ИD. I 4M 50ЯЯɎ F0Я И07 631И9 3И7IЯ31_Ɏ 0P3И 4ИD H0И357, 61_17 I 1_0V3 J00. 4ИD… 7HI5 I5 F0Я J00. _

(Translation: Mello, thanks for dealing with my shit through all these years. You're my best friend. I am sorry for not being entirely open and honest, but I love you. And… this is for you.)

Just then, the script faded away and Matt came into view, all red hair and goggles and sitting on a stool with a Variax Electric Guitar with a color that would most accurately be labeled as Tobacco Sunburst. He adjusted his hold on the beautiful instrument before shrugging out of his vest, revealing an unclothed torso that glistened as if he'd showered recently and didn't properly towel off. Next came the gloves, which gave way to long delicate fingers with darkened callouses dotting the pads. Finally, he slid one hand along the neck, pinning the strings along the fret board and strumming a low-key chord with his other hand. A crooked smile pulled between his cheeks, showing the dimples that Mello had never taken notice of until now. He strummed a few more times, fingers dancing along the fret and head starting to lull to the soft rhythm that he created. 40 seconds into the soft melody, the pattern of the riff changed, picking up slightly; 12 seconds after that, he opened his mouth and a bitter piece of heaven poured from his lungs as he sang:

_Somewhere inside this closet,  
__Your whole life exists.  
__An evil little secret-  
__That keeps you so nervous.  
__You're boarding up your windows;  
__Your feet are on the floor,  
__But what you're keeping out is on the wrong side of the door._

_I know the reason you're running scared;  
__I met the monster inside your head!  
__You never know the feeling of being alive.  
__It's not enough; it never stops coming.  
__It's not enough; so take a breath, say good bye!_

_Your skin is crawling on you;  
__The shadow's on the ground,  
__And now the room is spinning.  
__Oh god, what was that sound?  
__The fear is paralyzing.  
__Trapped here inside yourself,  
__Your will to leave is dying, is dying-  
__You're dying!_

_I know the reason you're running scared.  
__I met the monster inside your head!  
__You never know the feeling of being yourself.  
__It's not enough; it never stops coming.  
__It's not enough; so take a breath, say good bye._

_You're dying down-  
__Dying down._

_I know the reason you're running scared.  
__I met the monster inside your head!  
__You never know the feeling of being alive.  
__It's not enough; it never stops coming.  
__It's not enough; so take a breath, say good bye._

Matt finished singing and stopped playing immediately, even though the instrumentals were probably supposed to continue several seconds longer. He set his guitar down gently; as if afraid the slightest bit of abuse would destroy it from the outside in. His gaze met the screen and he reached a hand up to remove the goggles, showing off those mesmerizing pools of green, wet with liquid emotion. He took a shuddering breath and failed to hide his sorrow as he said: "I'm ready, Mello. This is me. Everything I am, and all I have as a human being. I'm not just a gaming hacker with a quiet disposition and the occasional snarky remark. I'm a whole person, with thoughts, feelings, opinions, and... the desire to see you one more time. -Please, come find me. You can find me in apartment number 13 of a small place about a mile from that new hotel: Voyeur's Inn. –If you come, I-I'll be pretty damn happy, but if you don't… well, fuck you too, Mihael. S-Seriously." A dry and humorless laugh escaped but turned into a barely concealed sob just as the video cut off.

Mello's eyes were wide and his chest heaved. Chills ran down his spine as he searched for a meaning to everything but could fabricate none. All he could really register was that someone desperately needed him.

So, after giving a sniffle and convincing himself that newfound allergies were the cause, he mentally mapped out the area Matt claimed to be before hurrying out the door and to his motorcycle.

Hiking a leg over the sleek machine and calling the engine to life, he unconsciously found himself lip-synching to a beat that had wormed itself into his head.

_I know the reason you're running scared.  
__I met the monster inside your head!  
__You never know the feeling of being alive.  
__It's not enough; it never stops coming.  
__It's not enough; so take a breath, say good bye._

…

* * *

**/Okay, I'm aware that this chapter is mostly comprised of lyrics by the band Sick Puppies (which I have no affiliation with), but I like how it turned out. One chapter left after this. So, review./**


	13. Nihility

**Summary:** Matt was always quiet and conservative. But that ideal is subject to change once Mello reads Matt's uncensored thoughts on the laptop he left behind.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced.

**Author's Note:** Erm… this fic ended differently than I originally planned, but I hope you like it. This is the final chapter, so… enjoy.

…

* * *

Fear, excitement, worry, and dread all aided the rush of adrenaline that coursed through the blonde's veins as he opened the throttle and raced dangerously through traffic, seeking a destination he was only vaguely aware of. His heart pounded in his ears and rocked his core like an orgasm. His un-helmeted head was at the mercy of wind and velocity as he urged himself to go just a little faster, taking a turn just a bit too stern and skidding on loose gravel piping off an adjourning road. The sudden loss of control struck panic in him and his senses failed, allowing him to pivot off course and into a guard rail. The bike stopped, engine gasping as its rider was thrown off and slammed to the ground by the combined forces of momentum and gravity.

After an indefinite amount of time, he opened his eyes and cautiously sat up, trying to quell the nausea that consumed him as he deduced that he'd minimally suffered a concussion.

Shakily getting to his feet and thanking God that he had such a leather-fetish (the toughness of the leather lessened the extent of external injuries), he reclaimed his bike and was glad that it roared to life under his command.

Tearing from that road and onto another, he struggled to keep focused, but his vision swam and everything he saw was shadowed in a blurred duplicate of itself.

Still, after what seemed like forever, he pulled up and parked the bike just outside his destination. It was a modest place with a decomposing exterior that didn't quite match the newly tarred driveway that circled the building.

Just as he killed the engine and secured the kickstand on his bike, he approached the door, planning to enter without warning –until he noticed the flashing lights coming from around the corner. Those unmistakable red and blue flickers were telltale police cars, and Mello's heart raced just a bit faster as he wondered what would warrant their attention.

Stealing a peek for himself, he unconsciously wandered right into the throng of onlookers, all chattering mindlessly about what had happened and why the cops, NEWS cameramen, and paramedics in hazmat suits were there. But Mello didn't need their words to figure out what had happened. His eyes told him everything he needed to know.

-In the center of the commotion was a Camaro, cherry red and shining brightly to boast the attention its own showered it with. And, laying just outside the Camaro with a limp and lifeless arm stretched towards the opened car door… was a redhead. With a striped shirt and a sheepskin vest.

People in hazmat suits were pulling that very redhead onto a stretcher and carting him to the ambulance… just like in the movies.

Mello's heart leapt into his throat, preventing him from articulating that he didn't want them to take away his longtime friend. Angry tears flooded his eyes and he roughly shoved bystanders out of his way as he stumbled toward the ambulance, barely croaking a name before those doors shut.

"M-Mail…"

As Mello watched the vehicle take leave and several people begin to mark off and quarantine the area, he let out a ghastly cry; his hand easily found his gun, but… before he could take out his frustrations on the chatty civilians, a hand encased his own, preventing the weapon's retrieval.

He looked to the crazy infidel who dared lay a hand on him, only to see a dark haired figure with terrible posture and a gas mask. The stranger retracted his hand casually and removed the gas mask; red eyes became apparent, and the blonde's brain quickly put things together.

"You bastard! You fuckin' killed him, didn't you!? It's not enough for you to kill children and make a publicized event out of your disgusting love for gore, but you have to kill him?! Why him –of all the people you could have murdered –why?!"

Those red eyes did not once look at Mello's face to see the pure, unadulterated rage in place; instead, his gaze lingered above the blonde hair that encompassed him like a halo.

"Fuckin' look at me when I'm talking to you!" Mello bellowed, pulling out his gun and pressing the tip of the barrel to the raven's temple. An angry cry tore through his gritted teeth as he warningly fingered the trigger.

The raven simply tilted his head to the side in a curious fashion, looking bored save for the ill-placed gesture. "Allow me to explain. I am detective Rue Ryuzaki, and-"

"No you're not, fucker!" Mello shrieked, uncaring that the crowd around them had silenced and were watching with the kind of morbid fascination expected from a desperate housewife.

"Mihael, please let me explain. I tried to warn Mail not to leave, but the moment he failed to listen… his numbers dropped."

"What numbers?"

"The numbers… above his head."

"His lifespan?"

"Yes."

"Why would his lifespan shorten just because he left?"

"He didn't leave, per se. He died before he even got into his car. I tried to stop him, but he didn't listen. –Believe it or not, Mail was like a friend to me. He even desired my presence. I did not want him to die, so I did what I could to prolong his life while simultaneously making his death as easy as possible."

"Soul suffocation? I read that shit in his Journal. Why the fuck would you let him do that shit?!"

"…Mihael, until you are truly alone, you will never understand. –But, what you _can_ understand, is that he was leaving for one last feeble attempt to see you. But… the Hydrogen Sulfide and Sanporu in his car… -they must have leaked. The moment he opened the car door, the gas expulsion hit him and he died an instant, painless death as his soul was gifted to Nihility and purged."

Both stood in silence for a small eternity.

The crowd eventually dispersed until they were all that remained. Then the raven spoke again. "Do you want to come with me to claim the body?"

Mello gave an uncertain nod and forced his emotions inward. Matt was gone… and there was nothing he could do about it.

…

Mello had his official introduction to Beyond Birthday as they took a stolen Sedan and went to identify the body. Mello gave the name Mail Jeevas for the death certificate before signing all necessary documents to entitle himself with the debts brought on by Matt's passing. Once that was done, he was granted time with the corpse.

Matt looked so peaceful as he laid there, but Mello couldn't feel any warmth as he took the chilled hand between his own and spoke in a soft, broken voice. "Matt, I… I wish you would've been more open with me sooner. Because… I love you too, and now it's too fuckin' late to let you know." His despair morphed into anger and he jerked his hands away from the corpse. "Then again, you're the selfish fool that kept it all to yourself. You just… –no. That's not fair of me to say." He took a deep breath and leaned close to the body, threading his fingers through red locks and squinting his eyes shut, trying to focus on the memories they had together rather than what was happening in the present. "I… love you, Matt. You were my best fuckin' friend. Sure, I took you for granted, but… you let me."

He steeled himself and opened his eyes, looking at his longtime friend once more.

"_I know the reason you're running scared.  
__I met the monster inside your head!  
__You never know the feeling of being alive.  
__It's not enough; it never stops coming.  
__It's not enough; so take a breath, say good bye."_

He sang those haunting lyrics softly, voice slightly out of tune but the meaning behind the words coupled with his hiden emotion were unmistakable. He lightly ran a hand over an icy cheek before turning away, only to come face to face with B himself.

"Take a breath, say good bye?" the raven repeated curiously, holding up two containers, both of which held the chemicals that had taken Matt's life.

Mello was strong but he could feel his resolve weakening. He said not a word as he reached for the Hydrogen Sulfide.

B remained equally silent as he watched the space above the blonde's head with mild enthrallment; he vaguely wondered if his own numbers might drop, but he'd never know, and though there was a time that such a tedious truth would affect him, right now it didn't.

The two walked away together, hands clasping while opposing ones gripped deadly chemicals. They made quite a pair: two enemies leaving the corpse of a mutual friend as their numbers dropped and they plotted to gift their souls to Nihility. All for the sake of no longer being alone.

...

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**/This is complete. Finally. So, review./**


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